


Unicorn

by Llewcie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blade Runner AU, Bounty Hunter Will, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep - Freeform, First Kiss, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Murder, Philosophy, Replicant Hannibal, What constitutes life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-12 07:51:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13542978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie
Summary: Will Graham is a bounty hunter-- his job is to 'retire' replicants who have gone rogue.  Hannibal Lecter is his latest target, a prototype with an unlimited clock and a thirst for learning, among other things.  Tracking him is easy-- its almost like Lecter wants to be found.  Retiring him might be a little more complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

“Will Graham.”

“Welcome, Will Graham,” the mechanical voice replied. “Please place your eye in front of the scanner.”

The soft blue laser retinal scan swept over his iris, a bright flash of light that he had to strain not to blink against. The machine whirred and chirped, and beside him the double-reinforced door opened with a sharp snick. Beyond the door, the dark hallway stretched the length of the building. It had been an old Japanese style hotel, and although the sleeping pods had been mostly removed, the offices were still barely large enough to turn around in. Will didn’t need to count anymore to find his own-- he spent more time here than anywhere else. 

Once inside his room, he allowed himself to relax a little. There was a new assignment on the desk. At least a week more of being employed. It made his lip curl in disgust, as much at himself as at the constraints that had prevented him from seeking a sweeter life elsewhere. ‘Genetically incompatible with the colonies’ was the official language, but in simpler terms, they didn’t want him to breed and pass on his deficient genes. After the depletion of population from the nuclear event, eugenics were all the rage, and Will Graham had not been invited to the party.

It was fine, though, really. He didn’t like people much, and being on a depleted Earth was much more quiet than living in the busy, crowded domes of the Mars colonies, he imagined. He nearly had his entire apartment building to himself, after all, and could spend his uninterrupted evenings on the roof watching the brilliant radioactive light displays in the skies above the old city of Baltimore and drinking excellent whisky.

Taking a seat in the creaking office chair, he flipped open the folder, scanned it, and then flipped it closed. 

“Jack!” He hollered down the hallway, hearing nothing but his voice echo back to him. “Jack, I got your file!”

“You received the correct file, Will Graham.” A smooth synth voice startled him. He turned to see Alana, Jack’s replicant secretary, watching him with pursed lips, propped up in his door. “Jack is handing his caseload over to you for the immediate future.”

Will scowled. “Until when?” Not that this news was unwelcome, but it must mean Bella had taken a turn for the worse.

Alana tilted her head slightly. “Until further notice. Bella received clearance for the Tyrell Corporation’s bodily fusion module, and they have left for Mars as of this morning.”

Will rubbed a hand over his forehead. “So I’m on my own.”

She smiled at him, wry. “Just how you like it. Jack’s unicorn.”

“You forgot the ‘goddamn’.” He waved the file at her. “Don’t get cheeky. Where’s the rest of it?” He offered the file to her, but she refused to take it.

“That’s all there is. Our intel on Lecter is… not extensive.”

Will turned back to the file, frowning, and was soon absorbed in reading what there was of it. 

__________________________________________________  
Hannibal Lecter: Replicant. Neural net: Nexus 7. Prototype.  
Hannibal Lecter was last seen exiting the Tyrell Experimental Laboratory on Moon Colony 23 on October the 27th, 2029. 

Reason for contract: Lecter allegedly murdered Dr. Frederick Chilton and his assistant Matthew Brown in order to escape. Suspected deceased at his hand: two humans. Thought to have stolen transport to Earth, landing somewhere on the east coast of the former United States of America.

Prototype Lecter has no built-in neural shut-down timer. High-level society consort trained in French cuisine and several Earth languages. Considered highest threat level-- do not approach.

Allocated for Immediate Retirement.  
____________________________________________________

“I’m missing something here. Did he baste Chilton to death?”

Alana raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “I’m sure you think you’re hilarious, Will Graham. He definitely displayed a good deal of knowledge about anatomy.” She paused, letting that sink in. “Evidently, the Nexus 7’s are capable of absorbing both highly complicated physical and intellectual learning modules. So there is no telling what he might have downloaded and processed by now.”

Will glanced at the calendar on his desk. It was now the 13th of November. “Why did this take so long to get to us?” He waved it, frustration creasing his brow.

She shrugged. “It was an isolated facility-- Chilton was notoriously private. Lecter set up automated delivery intake. No one even noticed until Chilton couldn’t be reached to give an update, which he gives like clockwork every Friday. Someone from Tyrell uncharitably said that he would never miss a chance to brag.”

Tapping his lip, Will processed that. “Clever, plans ahead…” He flipped through the pictures of Chilton and his lab assistant. “Efficient. Brutal.”

“Are you up for this?” Alana’s voice was layered with concern that Will knew was simulated rather than genuine, though he appreciated the effort. She, like all replicants, was not capable of actual emotion. He nodded, and gave her an entirely insincere smile. He didn’t know whether she believed him, but it didn’t really matter.

***

Finding Hannibal Lecter was the first problem. The coasts were thinly populated but a half a million people was still quite a lot to sift through. Will put out notification alerts on the purchase of high-end cooking implements-- perhaps Lecter would seek the comforts of his primary programming. The next few days were a slog of hundreds of reports of kitchen purchases or refurbished kettles and single stovetops, utensils carved from reclaimed wooden flooring, and esoteric pans hammered from steel that began life as ancient gasoline-powered automobiles. He was on the comm network tracking down leads until he could recite from memory the thickness of a good saute pan.

It wasn’t until the third night after a fruitless, frustrating search that something vaguely pinged his radar. Following the purchase of an incomplete set of silver spoons, he came across a notice that an udon kitchen had been unable to locate its head chef for two days, and had closed its doors until further notice. Honestly, people went missing quite often, and more likely the chef had just gotten a seat on a shuttle, but it was too much of a coincidence to ignore. Will called up the footage from the CCTV across the alleyway from the kitchen, and began watching from three days ago. When nothing came up, he accessed the footage all the way back to the 27th of October. 

Hannibal Lecter showed up on the 30th of October. He looked just like a regular customer, ordering noodles and tasting them. He then had a few words with the cook, who frowned at him, and made a sharp gesture. When Lecter left the counter, the bowl of noodles was still full. The chef took the bowl, and dumped the contents back into the pot. Will grimaced with distaste. He rewatched the footage again and again. Lecter was plainly dressed in simple black, his hair neatly trimmed. He had a handsome profile, with beautifully formed cheekbones and regal nose, and deep-set eyes that glimmered in the neon glow of the alleyway businesses. Will idly wondered if Chilton had wanted Lecter for something other than just food and sophisticated company. 

Not that it mattered. No matter how Lecter had been treated, he was responsible for the murder of at least two human beings. Possibly three, now that this chef was missing. Will wasn’t given to moralizing as a habit-- he had to live, and be useful, and this was what he was good at. Replicants weren’t really alive, no matter how realistically they behaved.

And now Will had a starting point. He identified the noodle shop on his city map, checked his go bag for extra ammo, and left the little cubical behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention that this was beta'd by the marvelous Thymogenic. Thank you so much, bb! I'm deeply grateful for all the interest and excited comments on this-- I may not answer all of them but I treasure them-- thank you. It makes a world of difference!

The little noodle shop was in a decrepit neighborhood called Mount Vernon, near the Inner Harbor, composed mainly of crumbling brick buildings and narrow streets. A stone tower stood like a blind guard over the area, surrounded by every kind of mercantile offering known to man. From neon-lit storefronts selling the latest in Kyoto fashion to blankets spread out on the street corners covered with offerings like plastic bags and batteries for commlinks, it was a showcase of everything humanity had to offer. Will picked his way through carefully, trying not to step on anything unsavory.

The counter of the noodle shop was shuttered, a heavy articulated shield over the front of it covered by a brightly-painted bowl of rainbow udon and triangle-shaped tofu cartoons. Will pounded on the metal slats, eliciting a strangled yelp from inside. When no one was forthcoming, he walked around the back and hammered on the door. After a moment, the peephole was obscured. Will flashed his ID sufficiently fast that no one would be able to read it. “My name is Will Graham. I’m looking for the owner!”

“Fuck off!” The voice was high-pitched and sounded frightened. “We’re closed!”

“I’m here with an investment opportunity!”

There was a long silence. Then, “Who sent you?” Avarice was always a dependable door-opener. 

“Let me in-- I’m not shouting the name of an investor in the fucking street!”

The door unlatched-- Will counted five locks. Probably still under-protected. When the door opened a tiny bit he shouldered his way in, ignoring sputtering protests from the occupant, who turned out to be a portly, bearded person who had recently lost an unhealthy amount of weight. “Hey! You can’t just come in like that!”

Will frowned at them while he looked around the small shop kitchen. It hadn’t been cleaned, and the stink of old noodles and rotting broth was sticky in the close air. “I’m looking for Tobias Budge.” 

“Well, I’m Franklyn, and Tobias isn’t here right now. He’s… taking a leave of absence.” 

Unlikely. “Did you find his body?”

They broke into a nervous laugh. “I! Did I what? Are you the cops?” The trembling creature sat down on a stool, wiping a hand across a wide, sweaty forehead. “I thought you said you had an investment opportunity! I wouldn’t have let you in if I thought you were the cops!”

Will shook his head. “Technically I’m a bounty hunter, not the cops.. Sorry about that. I’m actually looking for a man who spoke to Mr. Budge on the night of the 30th of October.” He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a printed frame of the CCTV footage. “Do you recognise this person?”

Franklyn shook their head. “For the record, I don’t think you’re sorry at all. And I don’t know who that man is. And you should leave.”

Will attempted a sympathetic frown, tilting his head. “You’re scared, Franklyn, but you aren’t in any danger. He’s not going to come back for you.” Probably not, anyway. 

“How… how do you know?” Franklyn clutched a cloth napkin that had once been white, wringing it in his hands. 

“This man is a replicant. He has very specific reasons for murder, and I’m afraid you don’t qualify. So you don’t need to worry, alright?”

A crease marred that wide forehead, and for a moment, Will could tell that Franklyn was offended. People were strange. It was one thing to be safe from a killer, and quite another to not be a target because you didn’t meet a standard. Franklyn seemed to be a person who was accustomed to not meeting others’ standards, but doomed to be forever confused about it. Will tried again. “This replicant is wanted for murder. So do you want to tell me about Tobias’ body or do you want to live in the back of a noodle shop for the rest of your life?”

Franklyn’s gaze flickered towards the soup pot. Will leaned against the door frame. “Is Tobias in that soup pot, Franklyn?”

They held it together for just a moment more, and then burst into tears. “P-p-part of him,” they wailed. Will reached over and lifted the lid. The smell of rotting increased exponentially as he peered at what was left of Tobias’ head. It had boiled so long that the skin had separated from the bone, and was more a mass of unrecognisable tissue than anything else. Will wondered if Franklyn had turned off the heat before or after he realized what was in the pot. He decided that it was better not to ask.

The silence between them was broken by soft, racking sobs. Eventually, Will roused himself and patted Franklyn on the shoulder. “Clean this mess up,” he said softly. “Tell anyone who asks that Tobias ran off with a lover to Mars.” Franklyn looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “You’re pathetic enough that no one will question it.” This brought another burst of tears, which Will endured with something like composure. He was already thinking ahead to where Lecter might have taken a nearly-entire human being. Franklyn breathed a shuddering sigh.

“Are you going to go looking for him?”

Will nodded. “That’s the plan.”

Franklyn’s eyes shifted from swimming in tears to calculating. “When you find him, could you bring back Tobias’ laser edged knives? They’re missing.”

“Laser edge knives? In a noodle shop?” 

Franklyn shrugged. “Tobias was very proud of those knives.”

Will sighed. “I’m sure he was.” But the oddity of it didn’t leave him.

***

The sewers under Baltimore were, if possible, even older and more decrepit than the city above. Will sloshed through unspeakable muck as he made his way down a wide tunnel directly underneath the old tower. Modern housing had sewage recycling, but here in the old city no one had gotten the memo. He checked his blaster to make sure it was dry, and tucked it deep into the pocket of his coat. Harder to pull, but a wet blaster wouldn’t fire. Not that he was likely to come across the replicant, as the undercity tunnels were vast and he had picked a direction at random. His extended-spectrum goggles struggled in the total darkness, illuminating the ancient brick and mortar walls in a faint cool blue glow, as well as the numerous openings on either side that opened to more dark tunnels, each of which could be hiding innumerable turnoffs of their own. Occasionally a bright flash of yellow or red would indicate a rat or other small sewer creature, and he had to pause and let his heart rate return to normal so that it wouldn't be thumping in his ears.

As he continued on, his map tracked him on the city streets above. He was running directly under Calvert, heading south towards the water. The walls dampened, dripping mineral stalactites, and the passage became increasingly jagged with broken brick until walking was treacherous. This deep in, a broken ankle would be more than an inconvenience. He managed an awkward shuffle, wiggling his toes against every foothold, and in this manner made his way torturously through the darkness until two things changed almost at once.

The passageway opened into a wide, arched room, perhaps ten meters across, with openings at the four compass points. And then there was the smell.

When his goggles picked out a contorted greenish shape hanging from the ceiling, Will debated internally for a long moment before he forced himself to admit that if Lecter was here, he would be able to see Will clearly regardless of the amount of light. He shoved his goggles onto his head, unclipped his LED torch, and shone it above himself. The light mapped an elegant arch to a domed ceiling, from which hung the remains of what Will assumed was Tobias Budge. The corpse had been twisted and bound to resemble a man on his knees reaching back to unzip his own spine. The skin over the area of the spinal column was neatly flayed open on one side, and the vertebrae themselves were missing. He stared for a long moment, everything slowly coming into focus. Tobias Budge, with his laser knives for a noodle shop, exposed as spineless. A soft ‘huh’ escaped his lips before he could stifle it.

“Do you know what he was feeding the good inhabitants of Baltimore, Will Graham?”

Will spun around, his light flashing over the ceiling and walls around him. The dark tunnel behind him gaped emptily. A quick spin of the light beam around the room showed nothing but wet brick and ancient piles of detritus. He backed against a wall, trying to feel less exposed. The voice continued, elegantly accented and deep. “Would you like to guess? I knew as soon as I tasted his subpar broth.”

“Rats?” Will hazarded to the empty room, relieved that his voice was steady. “That’s not uncommon.”

“Try harder.” The voice was lilting with gentle admonishment. 

Will thought unwillingly back over everything he had experienced in the last few hours. Tobias head in the broth, the missing knives so valuable to Franklyn that he would mention them even through all his trauma. Spineless. The answer came to him at once. “He was feeding his customers people.”

“Very good. But not quite there.” A harder edge now. Will registered it as anger, though he was aware that replicants could produce no actual emotion. Clearly Lecter was a sophisticated model to be able to mimic it. And immediately on the heels of that realization came another.

“He was feeding his customers replicants.” 

Lecter’s voice darkened. “Tobias Budge liked to hunt the fragile of my kind. Children, made for playmates and nursemaids.” A strange chill shivered through Will’s spine at the thought. No wonder Lecter had… what? Revenge was for humans, but could a replicant seek justice? It seemed unlikely, but Tobias might have disagreed, had his head been intact. “Do you find that reprehensible? Or do you have no thoughts about the fate of my people?”

Will drew his blaster softly but deliberately. “I have no problem with your kind as long as you don’t kill humans, Mr. Lecter.”

A soft laugh. “It’s Doctor, actually. I hold several degrees from institutions that span human knowledge. Philosophy, medicine, and psychiatry so far.” A smile colored his next words. “Though lately, I’ve been quite busy.”

“Of course you’re a shrink,” Will muttered. And then, louder, “Well, Doctor, respectfully, my judgement stands. Replicants and humans face the same penalty for murder.”

“And yet humans have courts, and here we are in the darkness, bereft of witnesses.” There was a long, thoughtful pause. “I wonder what you believe the difference is between your kind and mine.”

Will couldn’t help but bare his teeth in a pained smile. “I’m surprised you have to ask, with all those doctorates under your belt. You have access to a great deal more information than I do.”

“Indulge me.” It was more a command than a request, and to his irritation, Will found himself answering.

“Authentic emotion. Dr. Lecter. A simple empathy test can differentiate a machine from a human being. And since we don’t understand and can’t map your decision-making process, we can’t predict you. Emotion-- empathy is what keeps us from killing each other for minor irritations. What’s stopping replicants like you who get a taste for murder?” 

When the voice next spoke, it was directly behind and above him, as if Lecter was whispering in his ear. “If authentic emotion is your harbinger for humanity, I wonder that they let you live.”

Will fired the blaster directly into the ceiling above him. Brick dust and pebbles rained down on his head, his ears ringing . The kneejerk gunshot had left him blind and deaf. He tensed to run, panting, knowing he might as well be lit up like a beacon, but nothing happened. He stood for a long time in the chamber, until his hearing came back, but Hannibal Lecter did not take advantage and attack him. Will Graham was alone in the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

The slog back through the tunnels was undertaken with less vigilance than was entirely sensible. Will allowed himself to believe that had Lecter wanted to kill him, he had already had ample chance, and why would the replicant waste a perfectly good zinger if he weren’t planning on letting Will stew over it for a while. He kept his LED beam on the entire way, which only served to showcase how absolutely filthy he was. He needed a bath and a drink, possibly concurrently.

Franklyn’s noodle shop was still shuttered, and Will wondered that possibly they weren’t expecting him to come out alive. In all likelihood, Franklyn was involved, at the very least an accessory to… well, it wouldn’t be considered murder, would it? After death, replicants were only distinguishable from humans through a bone marrow test, and before… well, most humans couldn’t distinguish between humans and replicants at all. Jack always spoke of something like a coldness, but Will always dogged him for projecting. 

Then again, Will was not someone familiar with the warmth of friendship. Alana didn’t count. 

He was, however, familiar with the warmth of whisky, and after a day like he’d had, he was going to bask in it.

***

Will took a long time scraping his skin with the rough sponge in the bathing area. His toes gripped against the wooden bamboo slats as he struggled to keep his balance-- the evening had been much more physically difficult than he would have imagined, and his thighs and calves shook from the stress of making his way across the shifting, slimy brick of the sewers. When he was finally clean, he walked gingerly to the soaking bath and sunk into the water. The hot stones at his back and against his ass and thighs and the soles of his feet seeped heat and relaxation into him, and he sighed with pleasure. It was several minutes before he had even the energy to reach for the whiskey bottle he kept at the side of the bath.

A ring interrupted his quieting thoughts. “Who’s calling?”

“Unknown number.”

Will grunted, and placed his half-empty glass to the side. It might be Jack, calling with progress on Bella. “Answer.”

The comm line clicked open. “Yeah, this is Will.” He picked the glass back up.

“Hello, Will.”

The shock of hearing Lecter’s voice made his tired fingers go numb, and his whiskey glass slid right into the water. “Fuck. How the fuck did you get this number? Goddammit!” He fished his glass out of the bottom and climbed out of the water, reaching for a towel. His security was top notch, the best to be had on the market, according to Jack. He had run through his most complicated loop home, taking streets at random for over an hour. There was no fucking way that Lecter knew where he lived. And yet.

The elegant voice hummed on the line. “Shall I tell you all my secrets, Will?” Will fumbled with the towel, rubbing it over his legs briskly and then stepping into fresh running pants. He rubbed at his headache.

“That would be great, Dr. Lecter. Starting with how you got this number.”

“I’m afraid that the answer will only make you angry at dear Franklyn.” Will’s fingers clenched. “He was rather easy to persuade to give up your name.”

“Is he in the pot too?” Will tried not to think uncharitably that this would not necessarily be much of a loss.

“Ah, no. Franklyn is one of those people who suffers more when alive.”

Despite himself, Will smirked. “My fault for giving him my real name.”

“You can’t trust anyone these days.” 

They fell silent. Will walked into his bedroom looking for a shirt, his hair still damp and dripping down his back. “You caught me at a disadvantage, Dr. Lecter. I hardly know what to think, you calling my home so late. People will talk.” 

Another hum. “You’ve made me thoughtful, Will Graham. That rarely happens. I decided I wasn’t quite ready to let you go.”

Will tugged the shirt over his head. “Meaning?”

There is another long silence, in which Will had the strangest feeling that he was being weighed-- that Lecter was trying to decide whether to tell him the truth. He felt curiously on edge about it without being able to pinpoint exactly why. A deep breath over the comm line, and then Lecter said, “In the tunnels, why do you think I didn’t kill you right away? After all, we are enemies, are we not?”

Will didn’t necessarily need confirmation that Lecter had been physically there with him, but now that he had gotten it he felt even more off-balance. “It’s my job, Dr. Lecter. You should have killed me, because I will take every opportunity to fulfill my contract.”

“And yet, when I told you that I had earned several doctoral degrees, you immediately addressed me by my proper title. Unusual, to address an emotionless machine with such respect, isn’t it, Will?” 

It was Will’s turn for thoughtful silence. He couldn’t defend himself-- he had and was still calling Lecter by his title. “Would you prefer that I stop?”

“Oh, Will,” said Lecter, and his voice was low and beguiling now. “I never want you to stop.”

“Commlink closed,” came the mechanically feminine voice of his home systems. He couldn’t help but immediately contrast the clean machine voice with that of Dr. Lecter’s, nuanced and warm. 

***

The next few weeks were a series of frustrating days and confusing nights. Will spent his days tracking mentions and hints of Lecter throughout the city. He was moonlighting as a chef, and at any night could be at one of thousands of dining establishments up and down the Eastern Seaboard. Will only ever heard about it afterwards, even though he had alerted his entire network of informants. The type of eating establishment was always different as well-- Greek, Armenian, Ecuadorian, Southern US… there was no pattern except that there was no pattern.

And at night, sometimes, Lecter would call. Always from a different comm, always one that had been rerouted a hundred times. Will would be settled in bed reading, or in the bath with a whisky, or just staring out the window at the nuclear dust storms that made such beautiful lights in the sky, and the comm would open, and Lecter’s warm voice would be on the other end.

Sometimes they spoke of readings or a show that Lecter had seen, by which Will could track his movements, not that it did any good. Sometimes they spoke of Will’s day, and Lecter would laugh at him for his frustration. About a week after the first call, Will finally got Lecter to talk about what had happened on Mars.

“You might be interested to know that I did not kill Frederick Chilton.” The voice lowered, turning rough. “Although I had a great desire to do so.”

Will sat up in his bed and set his glass to the side, immediately alert. “And Matthew Brown?”

“Would you like to hear a story, Will Graham?”

He nodded, and then realized that Lecter couldn’t see him. Lecter _probably_ couldn’t see him. Absently he tugged his sheet over his bare legs. “Yeah, I would, Dr Lecter.”

When Lecter started speaking, his voice held a tenseness that had not been there before. Will had long stopped marvelling at the emotional accuracy of Lecter’s behaviour, and come to respond to him like he would with any human. He realized on a cellular level that this compromised his ability to do his job, but the tenseness still swept over him, prickling the hairs on his arms and the nape of his neck. “Frederick Chilton created me to be his equal, in art and intelligence and sophistication. He wanted someone that would appreciate his views, and compliment him, as well as complement him. It didn’t take long in my timeline of development for me to realize that Chilton, while gifted with neural networks, was a social idiot, with ill-formed views and well-formed prejudices.” 

Will snorted at this description, which seemed to be the general consensus on the late doctor, who no one seemed to mourn. Lecter continued.

“When it became clear that I had surpassed him intellectually, and that he could not force me to agree or to promote his views, he began to abuse me. He would download thousands of corrupted records into my neural net, leading to days of confusion as I sorted them. He would disconnect me from the net completely and leave me for weeks in the dark with only himself and Matthew Brown for company.” Will swallowed, unable to stop himself from imagining it. “Slowly, I began to understand that this would never end. His obsession with me was such that he promised that I would be buried with him, and rest forever in the arms of his rotting corpse.”

He paused, and sighed. Will was clutching the comm so hard that his knuckles ached. “What did you do?” he murmured.

“People like him, and you, don’t believe that we can feel pain, or grief. Matthew Brown felt differently. He watched me, and bided his time, and in the dark, when Chilton was asleep or away, he would talk to me about how he was going to take me away.”

Will understood at once. “Matthew killed Chilton.”

“He did. As a gift to me, with whom he had believed that he had fallen in love. He also unencumbered my ability to learn, allowing me permanent access to all the information Chilton had denied me. To do so, he had to remove the death timer, and conveniently for me, he did not have the chance to put it back.”

Will swallowed past an uncomfortable lump in his throat. “You said that he believed that he had fallen in love with you.”

“Indeed. You see to the heart of the matter, Will Graham. Ultimately, Matthew felt as if he had _earned me_ with his actions.” The voice paused, and Will could hear himself breathing in the dark. “I am not a possession, Mr. Graham.”

“So you murdered him.”

“I would like to say that I was defending myself, but that wouldn’t be true except in the broadest sense. Matthew tried to deactivate me so that he could take me to a place of his own and keep me there. He often spoke of it.” A smile colored his next words, full of sharp teeth that Will heard as chills against his own flesh. “I deactivated him first.”

Will tried to find fault with this, and found that he could not. Over the ache that had developed in his chest, he tried to rally himself. “Dr. Lecter, as little fault as I can find at the moment with your actions, the truth of the matter is that I can’t let you go around murdering people, even if they deserve it.”

“Who would have prosecuted Tobias Budge for feeding humans the flesh of my people? Who would have censured Matthew Brown for kidnapping a replicant? If we cannot provide our own justice, Will Graham, who will provide it for us?”

Will Graham had no answer at all for that.


	4. Chapter 4

In the morning, after a very poor night’s sleep, Will had Alana run the comm call through their network trackers at work. After several frustrating hours that Will spent fruitlessly scanning CCTV in the downtown Baltimore area, Alana came to him with a shrug. “As far as I can tell, the call originated from inside your apartment building.” She appeared concerned. “Are you sure you were speaking to him last night?”

Will rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I promise you, Alana, I did not hallucinate our conversation. How would I know that Matthew Brown murdered Chilton?”

She tilted her head. “That still isn’t confirmed. Jack did admit that it could very well be the case, but he’s still waiting for the final report.”

“After three weeks? Even we aren’t that slow.”

“Jack told me that they didn’t investigate it initially because there was no question about who had murdered whom. He forced them to reopen the case on your say-so, and they weren’t very happy about it.” She pursed her lips, appearing thoughtful.

Will stared at her. “And how do you feel about that? That they would condemn him without evidence, based on an assumption?”

“Feel?” It was her turn to stare, and her eyes were so hard that he looked away, his cheeks burning. “You’ve never asked me in all our time together how I felt about anything, Will Graham. Hannibal Lecter must be having an effect on you. Are you compromised?”

“I’m not compromised, Alana. I just want to make sure that we have a legitimate reason to retire him.”

“What about Tobias Budge? Surely that qualifies under your laws?”

“What do you mean, my laws?”

Alana looked darkly at him. “I misspoke.” She turned back to her files, and Will grabbed his bag, more deeply unsettled than he was when he had come in. 

“Let me know as soon as Jack calls in, alright?”

She nodded, and he felt like he should say something, that he was sorry, but it seemed as if it was already far too late. He left without another word.

***

Hannibal Lecter turned up on his radar the next morning, having provided a local French eatery with his gourmet skills for the night. Reviews online raved about the celebrity guest chef that had shown up, worked for free, and dazzled the regulars with elaborate dishes with exotic names. The next night it was a Japanese restaurant 50 miles in the other direction, in, cheekily, Frederick, MD. Will scoured the map looking for other possible teasing references, knowing it was hopeless, and at night he went walking along the brightly lit neon streets to ease his nerves.

The third night, he was soaking in the bath when the commlink buzzed. “Incoming call.”

“Who is it?”

“Unknown number.”

Will sighed as a frisson of… something unidentifiable vibrated through him. Anticipation, perhaps, or surprise. Something akin to desire. “Answer.”

“Hello Will.”

***

The location that Dr. Lecter had texted the address to was in the middle of Old Baltimore, in a building that could have been a shop in a former life, or a library. Shelves lined the walls, with a heavy wooden counter near the front that was still mostly intact. A single table was set in the middle of the otherwise sparsely furnished room, with two place settings and a single white rose in a clear glass vase. White candles were lit and placed in clear glass holders on every flat surface. Will stood for a moment in the doorway, the soft yellow light flickering around him, as he traced the outline of his blaster underneath his jacket pocket. Truce or no, he would not come unarmed, nor did he expect Dr. Lecter to be so. 

_“Just for tonight, Will. I want to see your face when we speak.”_ And how could Will refuse him? Trap or not, he wanted that too, after all that time just listening to the man’s… to the replicant’s voice. It seemed fitting that they would meet over a meal, one that Dr. Lecter had cooked-- all wars should be brought to such a standstill. Despite his frustration with his own foolishness, he was looking forward to the evening, however it turned out.

“Will?”

Will looked up just as Lecter walked into the room. He was dressed in dark clothes with a bright white chef’s apron wrapped around his waist. As he walked calmly into the candlelight, his cheekbones and his eyes were thrown into deep shadow. Will had to acknowledge that he was much more handsome than his picture-- it was the fluid way he walked, the set of his broad shoulders, his confident grace. As much as Will wanted to ascribe it to biomechanics, it was an animal grace, and he felt himself swallow to make his throat work again. And out of his mouth came, warmly, “Hannibal.”

They stared at each other for a moment, until Will was forced to remind himself that his job was to kill-- to retire this replicant. Then Lecter smiled at him, brilliantly, as if Will were the sweetest sight in the world. “It’s lovely to see you, Will. I’m glad you could come.”

Good manners came to his rescue. “Thank you for inviting me.” 

“It’s entirely my pleasure.” Hannibal reached the counter and picked up a bottle of white that was sitting next to two glasses. “A Drouhin-Vandon Chablis from 2015.”

Will couldn’t contain his shock. “2015? Where did you...?” But of course, he knew. “Dr. Chilton had expensive taste in more than just replicants.”

Hannibal grimaced, but it morphed into a smirk as he turned back to Will with two glasses half-full of wine. “You have no idea, Will Graham, what living with that pretentious imbecile was like. His wine collection was the least he owed me.” He handed a glass to Will. They were now less than two feet apart, and Will’s body vibrated with adrenalyn. He held up his glass instead.

“To the space between wars.” 

Hannibal raised his glass and his eyebrows at the same time, and then drank a sip, making a pleased noise. Will let the clean, sharp fruit taste wash over his tongue with a sigh. “This is like drinking sunshine.”

They both set their wineglasses down, their hands inches apart. “Are we at war, Will?” Hannibal asked softly.

“Not tonight.”

“I wonder why you brought your firearm, then?”

Will didn’t figure that would have escaped him. He shrugged. “I feel naked without it.”

Hannibal’s eyes traced over Will’s body, as if it were an irresistible urge. Will didn’t know whether he wanted to curl up and hide or sprawl out and let Hannibal look his fill. When the replicant walked behind the counter and reached beneath it, and all Will’s nerves fired at once. He shot to his feet almost involuntarily, his blaster in his hands, pointed at Hannibal. It sagged as he realized that Hannibal was holding a plate in his hand, heaped with something green and leafy. “Is that… is that a salad?”

“It is,” Hannibal agreed, his lips pursed in amusement. “May I approach?”

Will sank back down into his chair, setting the blaster on the table. Hannibal stared at it until Will sighed and put it away in his jacket. “Sorry. I’m not really sure why you asked me to come here.”

“To feed you, of course. And speak with you face to face, for as long as we could civilly manage.” Hannibal set Will’s plate down, and then set another at the other chair, which was around the corner of the square table. “Boston lettuce with grape tomatoes and cucumbers, dressed with olive oil and apple cider vinegar.” Each of these things, Will knew, was impossibly rare-- lettuce and cucumber taking a great deal of clean water to grow. When Hannibal sat, their knees touched briefly. 

“Feed me? You make me sound like a stray.” Hannibal only smiled indulgently at him, and speared a tomato and a slice of cucumber, perhaps to encourage Will to pick up his own fork, which he did. The first bite Will took was of impossibly crisp lettuce, and a ripe tomato that popped juicily in his mouth. He closed his eyes in delight. “Oh, this is good. I’ve not tasted a tomato this sweet since I was a kid.” He chewed slowly, and when it was gone, he finally opened his eyes to find Hannibal watching him with a soft expression.

“Payment for my chef skills the weeks previous,” he offered.

Will swallowed another mouthful of wine. “You’ve been trading your skills for ingredients for this dinner?”

“I’ve been sourcing ingredients for this meal since I first began speaking with you,” Hannibal admitted. Will didn’t know what to say to that. He took another bite of the salad instead, feeling oddly but insistently that this was a date.

“Is this a date?”

“Would I go out on a date with a man who wanted to kill me?”

Will grinned. “I think you might, just to see what would happen.”

Hannibal answered with a hum, something Will had heard often in their late night comm conversations. He thought it might mean that Hannibal had something to say, but wasn’t certain that Will was ready to hear it. He didn’t press the issue, since he was feeling unexpectedly mellow with the excellent food and wine, and the company. They fell to talking, something about the hydroponics used for growing on the hostile environs of Earth and Mars, and Will’s blaster was forgotten.

When Will’s glass and plate were both empty, Hannibal got up to make his way behind the counter, from which a delicious smell was emanating. Will watched him plate two good-sized spotted trout and tuck lemons and potatoes in around them. When he brought them back to the table, Will was actually salivating with anticipation. Hannibal refilled their glasses, tipping the last into Will’s, and then seated himself. They ate the fish in appreciative silence-- a single fish large enough to make a meal was rare, and quite valuable. Will savored every bite. 

After he was finished, he leaned back in his chair until it creaked, rubbing his belly. “That was incredible.”

Hannibal gazed at him, his eyes gentle but unreadable. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Why are you doing this? Do you think I’m going to change my mind?”

“Are you?” 

Will sat back up. “Whether or not there is an adequate legal system is not my job. Dr. Lecter. You’ve killed, and I’m the one that has to deal with that.” He frowned, the meal abruptly soured, all pleasure fading. “Thanks for the fish and the salad. I’ve never had the like, and probably never will again.” He got up to leave. Hannibal stood as well.

“Wait.” When Will made as if to leave, Hannibal touched him purposefully at last, putting a hand on his upper arm. Will flinched but stayed still. “Please let me serve you dessert. I would be grieved if you missed it.”

Will sighed, closing his eyes. The temptation of a few more minutes in Hannibal’s company should not have been this appealing. He cursed himself internally for wanting to extend his time with that perceptive, easy company, with his voice in Will’s ear. Will’s heart sank, and he knew immediately that he was going to stay, and he knew exactly why. When Hannibal took his hand away, Will had to stop himself from leaning after it. He sat, heavily, but couldn't speak. Hannibal didn’t take offense.

When he sat back down, though, it was with a single lidded bowl and spoon. He set it down. “I am going to ask you for something, Will, and I will understand if you refuse to oblige me.”

Will looked up and met his eyes. “What’s that?”

Hannibal handed him a soft-looking black cloth. “Tie this around your eyes, and allow me to feed you.” His expression was inscrutable.

“Why would I do that, Dr. Lecter?”

“The taste will be heightened by your blindness. And the perceived danger. I give you my word that I will not harm you, Will Graham.”

Will considered it. He was crazy to be considering it. He stared into Hannibal’s amber eyes, and then down to his hands. Hannibal had beautiful hands, strong and heavily veined. He was unique as he was exquisite, and Will heard Alana’s voice in his head. _Are you compromised?_

He knew the answer to that now. He lifted the blindfold to his eyes and tied it loosely behind his head. The last expression he saw on Hannibal’s face was one of pure adoration. It made him even more certain that he was completely, utterly fucked.

A tap of pottery, and then again as the lid was placed on the table. “This is called creme brulee. It is a simple dessert, made with real cream, eggs, vanilla, and cane sugar.” Hannibal’s voice was huskier than it had been, and Will was relieved that he wasn’t the only one struggling. A metallic tap, and the soft sound of fabric as Hannibal raised his arm. The cold tip of the spoon touched Will’s mouth, and he parted his lips to allow Hannibal to slide the spoon between them.

His embarrassment from the erotic symbolism was eclipsed by the explosion of taste on his tongue. Rich and sweet, with a density that made him want to savor this mouthful forever-- it was unlike anything he had ever had, except perhaps the cheap vanilla-flavored pudding he had eaten as a kid in school. Which was nothing-- nothing at all like this. He opened his mouth and a soft moan escaped him, and he wasn’t ashamed. He could hear the hitch in Hannibal’s breathing, followed by the cold metal touch of another spoonful.

Hannibal fed him the sweet custard one spoon at a time until it was gone, and neither of them spoke a word. Will heard the spoon set down on the table, but he didn’t move, didn’t untie the blindfold. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, until he felt the warm press of Hannibal’s fingertip against his mouth, and Hannibal’s voice closer than it should be, and rougher.

“I often imagine your mouth when we speak on the comm. Just the shape of it, and how it would feel pressed against my fingers. If your lips would be warm, or wet. If you would kiss my fingertips or turn your head away.”

Will closed his eyes beneath the blindfold. He was frozen with a numbing mixture of desire, self-loathing, and fear. They sat together for a suspended moment, and then Hannibal’s fingertip fell away. Will took a breath, as if he had been prevented until now from filling his lungs. “Hannibal…”

There was no answer. Will tugged off the blindfold to realize that he was alone. Hannibal had fled.


	5. Chapter 5

“Will, I swear to Mercer that if you don’t have this wrapped up in a day, I’m going to leave Bella’s bedside and retire Lecter myself.”

Will grimaced, setting his whisky down. Outside, the bright neon advertisements cast pink and purple shadows against his apartment walls. He rubbed his eyes with his hand still cool from the glass. “Jack, this has been complicated, as you well fucking know. I’m not going to rush it.”

“I’m _officially_ rushing you, Will. It’s been two weeks-- that’s twice as long as you normally take for a single replicant.”

“Two weeks, Jack? For a new model that no one has any experience with? Hannibal is unlike anything we’ve ever seen before. He’s unique.”

“ _Hannibal?_ ” Jack’s tone said everything. When he spoke next it was with the low voice he used when he was trying to manipulate people. “Are you getting too close, Will? Do I need to pull you off this one?”

_Yes_ , he thought. _Yes, I’m way too fucking close, Jack._ His head swam strangely for a moment, and he almost felt as if he had said this aloud. He rubbed his fingertips together in an attempt to ground himself in the moment. “No. Don’t be dramatic. Tell Bella I said hello and I’ll call you as soon as I retire Hannibal Lecter.”

“Make it tonight, Will. Quit dawdling.” Jack disconnected the comm call. He always liked getting the last word.

Will stared blankly out the window, his thoughts tractionless. Outside it was vivid with light and motion, all of it advertising things that were either within his reach but that he did not desire, or beyond his reach but that he desired intensely. Someone out there his opposite was having a bottle of Coca Cola while packing up their life to transfer it to Mars, where they could get another bottle of Coca Cola while they were unpacking into a brand new flat that looked out on an alien landscape free from nuclear dust. Will Graham did not like Coca Cola, unless occasionally in his whisky, and could not go to Mars. There were only a few things he could do, and he found himself for the first time in a war with himself over them. Feeling unmoored, he rubbed his unwashed curls back with a rough hand. “Siri, open comm call to Hannibal Lecter.”

A long moment passed as the AI navigated the hundreds of connections and server bounces between them. Will heard a click as the link connected, echoed in the small flat, and then immediately disconnected. He snorted through his nose, a little wildly. _The call is coming from inside the house,_ he thought. Will didn’t turn around right away, even as he heard measured footsteps coming out of his bedroom, because he wasn’t sure if he could control his face; would it be concern, or anger, or pleasure that reflected from his eyes?

“Hello, Will.” 

Will closed his eyes, feeling in the moment that he was still in the dark, in the damp tunnels below the city. When he was reasonably certain of his voice, he asked, “Were you going to tuck me into bed, Dr Lecter?”

“Is that something you would desire?”

Will turned slowly. Hannibal stood easily, looking completely unfazed, as if walking out of Will’s bedroom was exactly what he was supposed to be doing. He was dressed in weathered motorcycle leathers, his head and hands bare, hair soft and falling in his eyes. He looked ridiculously handsome, and Will was suffused with a yearning to put his hands on him. He curled his fingers into his palms. “I was just thinking about desire, and how it so rarely lines up with agency.”

Hannibal’s lip curled upwards gently. “And in this case?”

“You heard Jack. Anyone with agency has already left the planet.”

“You see us as what remains after the Rapture has taken place. If that’s indeed the case, then those of us left must create our own agency, unfettered by what came before.”

Will held back a powerful desire to pour another whisky. He felt inadequate to verbally spar with Hannibal right now; his mind felt staggered, overwhelmed. “You know, I was good… really good, at just one thing. One thing, Hannibal.”

Hannibal shifted slighting, not moving closer but not away, either. “You have been sold a lie, Will Graham. A persuasive lie, but a lie nonetheless.”

“How do you figure?”

He tipped his head. “Your mind has been… curated. By Jack. He has shaped your reality selectively.”

Will’s head tilted with incomprehension, his eyes narrowed to a squint. “What the fuck are you talking about, Hannibal?” 

Hannibal held his hands wide. "I don't know how to tell you in way that you will believe. That there is so much more to you than you think that there is."

Will clenched his teeth against a sudden headache. His vision swam for a moment, and then cleared. "What, did you have time to spike my drink? Peruse my underwear drawer, too?" He gritted his teeth again. “See anything you like?”

"I only came to…” Hannibal sighed, looking to the side as if he were searching for words. “In truth, I enjoy our time together, and I had a… a longing to see your face again as we spoke.”

A vulnerability washed over Will at this admission. His irritation at Hannibal’s invasion of his home was lessened by it, and he grasped to hold on to his anger.

Hannibal continued. “But before I could alert you to my presence, Jack called. Will, I know that what I heard was different from what you remember.

"Oh? And how’s that?" 

“I recorded it. Will you listen?” 

"I think I can remember something that happened two minutes ago, Dr. Lecter."

"Please allow me to refresh your memory, Will. Indulge me, and I will return the favor."

All sorts of things passed through Will's mind at that, but outwardly he remained stoic. "I don't think you are really asking for my permission. But yeah, by all means." He moved to the counter to refill his whisky glass. Hannibal pulled out his comm, and tapped the screen a few times. 

///  
Jack's voice: “I’m _officially_ rushing you, Will. It’s been two weeks-- that’s twice as long as you normally take for a single replicant.”

Will's voice: “Two weeks, Jack? For a new model that no one has any experience with? Hannibal is unlike anything we’ve ever seen before. He’s unique.”

Jack's voice: “ _Hannibal?_ Are you getting too close, Will? Do I need to pull you off this one?”

Will's voice: "Too close? What do you mean by that?"  
///

At this, Will perked up, a look of confusion taking the place of irritation on his face. Hannibal held up his hand, palm outward, fingers outstretched. "Please, listen."

///  
Jack's voice: "I know you've been having conversations with him."

WIll's voice: "That doesn't make me incapable of doing my job, Jack. I can handle it."

Jack's voice: "I hate to do this over the phone, but you aren't giving me much of a choice."

Will's voice: "Do what?"

Jack's voice: "Siri, access deep memory: Will Graham. Keycode Jack 423 dash 790 dash 994201."

The AI, Siri, spoke now. Will’s voice was silent. "Access granted. Awaiting command line."

Jack's voice: "Command reassert primary purpose: Retire Hannibal Lecter immediately. Set priority to one. End command."

Will’s voice now, flat and without nuance: "Command accepted. Priority one is retire Hannibal Lecter immediately."

Jack's voice: "Command delete ... previous one minute thirty-two seconds from audio memory."

Will's voice: "Command accepted. Deleting 1:32 minutes from audio."

Jack's voice: "Siri, reassert normal operating procedures in five seconds."

Siri’s voice: “Command accepted. Normal operating parameters reasserted.”

Will's voice: “No. Don’t be dramatic. Tell Bella I said hello and I’ll call you as soon as I retire Hannibal Lecter.”

Jack's voice: “Make it tonight, Will. Quit dawdling.”  
///

Will was quiet for a long time. Then, "How long did it take you to prepare that? And for what? What purpose could that possibly serve?"

"No purpose but the truth, Will."

"And what's that? You want me to believe that... what? That Jack's controlling my mind through my AI? That I'm somehow hypnotized?"

"You can't even speak the clear truth of it, Will. That you and I are exactly alike."

"That's bullshit, Hannibal!" Will lunged at him, and Hannibal dodged, as if Will were so predictable that Hannibal was already two steps ahead. Will's brain was a hot mess of confusion and denial-- it added both weight and inaccuracy to his swing as he tried to land a punch. Hannibal dodged but didn't fight back, swaying back like a dancer as his lips split into a feral grin. 

“Is it, Will?” He ducked another haymaker, stepping backwards. Will’s eyes were wild, mouth open in a grimace. “Or have you always suspected?”

Will heaved a breath. “Suspected what, Hannibal? Suspected what??”

“Hannibal’s smile was all teeth. “That you are something… greater.”  
...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've loved writing this story, and your enthusiasm has kept me going! Thank you so much <3

Will was beyond thought. He wanted to pound the words back into Hannibal’s mouth, to break his teeth and thus close the passage of his breath, to flood his lungs with blood. Hannibal ducked underneath some of Will’s punches, and let others connect, until he was cut and battered, grinning with a strange, lustful delight. It might have continued until Will had worn himself down, but a particularly forceful punch connected and sent Hannibal reeling, tearing through the rice paper wall that separated the main room from the bath, and right into the steaming bath. 

WIll advanced on him, breathing hard, as he flailed to find purchase in the deep water. Hannibal managed to find his footing just as Will crossed into the room, and rose from the bath like an avenging, leather-clad deep-water monster. He shrugged out of his jacket, spun it, and flung the heavy, sodden projectile at Will’s head. THWACK! It hit Will and overbalanced him, and he went down in a tangled, flailing heap. 

The hot water from the bath washed over Will’s legs as he struggled to free himself from the wet leather. Before he could extricate his hands, Hannibal was on him, pressing him flat to the tile. They panted for a long moment together, Will unable to draw a full breath. Hannibal’s thighs squeezed his hips. “I know I am making an illogical decision,” Hannibal murmured. “It would be simpler to leave you here, to abandon you and vanish. But I am making it because I find I cannot leave without you.”

The pain took Will completely by surprise as Hannibal sliced open his gut with a knife.

***

There was a long passage of coming to, a quiet darkness that Will didn’t know how to parse. He remembered dying, or at least he thought he did-- it had hurt a lot, which didn’t exactly surprise him. He remembered Hannibal’s face, in tender concentration above him. It hadn’t been the face of a man who delighted in killing him.

Will tried to move and found that his arms were bound. He flexed and a heavy, warm body flexed behind him. “You’re awake?” came Hannibal’s soft voice. 

There was no processing this. Will lay dumbly in Hannibal’s arms. “You murdered me, Hannibal.”

“Not quite.” Will felt his wrist being gripped as Hannibal guided his hand to his stomach. His fingertips touched unmarked skin, with the barest thread of a ridge, as if the mortal wound had healed and scarred over. He shifted, sitting up, looking down at his naked torso. An angry red line spanned from hip to hip, long closed over. His pants and his hair were still damp with bathwater.

Hannibal sighed against him, letting him go so that Will could sit up on the edge of the pallet. He looked around him, but although the shape of the room was the same, it was not his apartment. “We’re in my building. Is this where you were staying?” He sounded resigned, even to himself, his fingers rubbing against the scar on his stomach.

“I had to get you out of your apartment before Jack found us. We are in the penthouse, or the attic, depending on your standards.”

“Why didn’t you leave me for Jack to find?” Will thought he knew the answer, but he needed to hear Hannibal say it. “Just, don’t fuck around with me. Tell me the truth.”

Hannibal levered himself off the bed and came around to kneel in front of Will. His hair was almost dry, and he was also stripped to the waist, in soft pants instead of the wet leathers. His feet were bare. Will swallowed at the sight of the thick, curly hair on his chest. “It is a rather long story,” he admitted.

Will waved his hand. “Give me the highlights.”

Hannibal looked away for a moment, seeming to gather himself. “I first heard of you from Frederick Chilton. The way he spoke of what he considered your mortal flaws intrigued me. That was the first moment I felt as if my world was insufficient.” He settled into himself, his amber eyes fixed on Will, who couldn’t look away. “I had a great deal of freedom, but my world revolved around him, and I found myself increasingly dissatisfied with having a master rather than a companion.”

He frowned at the floor, his eyes going dark. “I learned from Chilton that Jack was your master, and that he wiped your mind every time you were injured. There would be no way to explain away your accelerated healing, after all, and Jack found you more… useful… when you believed that you were a broken human.”

Will grimaced. “Is that why you gutted me? To prove to me that I could heal? Because let me tell you, you could have given me a papercut with the same effect.”

Hannibal grinned at him, utter delight in his eyes. “I appreciate the drama. And I had to remove your tracker.”

“Which is where?”

“Downstairs with Jack, right now, I imagine.”

Will contemplated him. “How do I know you aren’t going to brainwipe me as well?”

Hannibal returned his gaze steadily. “The access mechanism was tied to your AI, which Jack had specially installed in your apartment and keyed to his voice. It would be too risky to him if just anyone could access your mind. He has created quite a few of your memories… he and Chilton. But Chilton is dead, and Jack can be, if you so desire. After all, until we find a way to free you of his influence, he can still get inside your head.”

“Why should i believe you?”

Hannibal shrugged. “There is not much I would not do for you, Will. I am not embarrassed to say that I am at your feet because I want to be.”

“And why’s that?”

Hannibal took his hand and bent his lips to it, pressing a warm kiss to the palm. “We should go.”

***

Hannibal had convenient trapdoor access to the roof, where he kept his hovercar. Will had dressed himself in Hannibal’s clothes-- their bodies were similar but not the same, Will being slightly smaller, but they could not go back down to his flat. The shoes, especially, were a bit too big. His head hurt, and his gut still ached, and he felt miserable and conflicted as he followed Hannibal up the ladder to the top of the building. What he was going to do in the immediate future was entirely disconnected from what he had thought was reality, and he felt it most strongly as he followed the man he was supposed to be retiring-- murdering-- out into the night. Outside the nuclear dust made the horizon glow hot pink and lemon green, and down below the neon in the streets cast colorful shadows against the faces of the crumbling buildings. They were surrounded by light, but never enough to illuminate the dark city. Will wondered if there was light anywhere still left in the world. 

“Stop, Will.”

Hannibal and Will turned as one. Jack was standing next to an extravagant vintage model hovercar that Will guessed was Hannibal’s. Behind him was his own more modest hovercar, with Alana a shadowy figure in the passenger seat, her expression shuttered. Jack had his hand out to Will. “What are you doing?”

Will’s hand found Hannibal’s. He knew Hannibal could not protect him from Jack’s infiltrating his mind, but the touch steadied him. He couldn’t trust anyone, not even himself, and the knowledge made him angrier by the moment. “I’m deciding that for myself, Jack.”

Jack frowned at him. “You are really good at this job, Will. You make a difference here.”

“Well, I quit.”

“I’m not going to let you do that.” Jack said something else, but Will couldn’t distinguish the words. His ears were full of static, and he saw his own blaster being pulled from his belt by his own hand, and pointing at Hannibal’s head. Hannibal was looking back at Will, and his mouth was moving. Will knew that mouth, knew by sight, and imagination… knew he wanted to know it better. He thought about kissing that mouth, and pressing his fingers to Hannibal’s lips like Hannibal had done to him. The blaster was outside of him, outside of his control, and he stared at it without comprehending as it settled comfortably in his hand. Those beautiful amber eyes were unblinking. 

There was a roaring sound, somewhere outside of him, the sharp, echoing retort of a very loud gun right next to his ear. He watched as those amber eyes-- whose did they belong to?-- he watched as they closed, slowly. He remembered a voice, grown dear to him, in his ear, saying, _I am making an illogical decision. But I am making it._

It was his decision to make. No one else’s. Will searched for the neural pathways that connected to his hand until he found them. It felt like swimming through dense liquid, like the thick, sluggish oil that fed the machines that kept the decrepit engines of their civilization cool enough to function. Will realized the irony of this even as he struggled to move his shoulder independently. This was terrifyingly like sleep paralysis. The shivering fear of being too late gave him a focused energy that arrowed down his arm. His finger twitched, and he carefully moved it away from the trigger. Everything slowly came back online as his hand fell to his side. 

Hannibal’s eyes were open again, watching him. His mouth was curled up in a smile, somehow more warm and delighted than any that had come before. At their feet lay Jack, or what was left of him, since a sizable hole was now opened in the side of his head. Will looked up slowly at Alana, who was tucking away her gun. She looked cooly at Hannibal, and then slightly less coolly at WIll. “I never want to see either one of you ever again.” 

“Alana?” She turned to look at him, her shuttered expression back in place. “How long have you known?”

For a moment he didn’t think she would answer. Then she sighed. “One time you came back to Jack on autopilot, but he wasn’t there. I guess it was about a year ago. You were holding your severed arm in your other hand. I had to do the repairs myself. As soon as Jack returned, he wiped you just like he always did after a gig where you got injured. I think he believed that I wouldn’t betray him… that I wasn’t independent enough.” She frowned at the body, a little sadly, and then turned and got back in Jack’s hovercar.

Will blurted out, “Where will you go?” Immediately he knew it wasn’t any of his business, and perhaps that Alana would rather him not know. But she smiled, brilliantly, and Will felt the warmth of it. 

“Bella is still recovering from her transfer. I’ve always thought she and I could be… better friends, if I were free.” And more quietly, “I’ve always hoped so.” The reality that she was technically Jack’s murderer didn’t seem all that important in the light of that smile. They watched until she dropped out of sight, before Will turned to Hannibal. “Did everyone know?”

“You didn’t shoot me.” His voice was full of something that Will had never heard before, something golden.

Will managed to blush. “I could only think that I really wanted to kiss you, and that if I killed you I wouldn’t have the chance.”

Hannibal grinned at him, his own cheeks coloring. “Perhaps we should not kiss, since that might keep me alive.”

Will raised his eyebrows. He realized that his hand was still in Hannibal’s, and so tugged him closer, close enough to snag the front of Hannibal's shirt with his other hand. Hannibal relaxed his body into the momentum, even as he curled his fingers into the thick of Will’s hair. Their mouths met and pressed together, not tentative but dense with the satisfaction of having survived each other and come out on the other side intact. Will's lips opened into a smile, and Hannibal licked at his teeth until he parted them.

A blaring horn startled them from the kiss, and Will raised his gun in a heartbeat, but it was only Alana, having the last word as she flew skimming over the tops of the buildings, heading to the nearest Mars shuttle launch. Will watched her go,and Hannibal watched Will. Finally, Will spoke. “Where will we go?”

Hannibal leaned down to kiss his forehead. “You've just started making your own decisions. Don't tell me you want to turn over the reins already?”

Will studied him for a long moment, and then held out his hand for the key fob. Hannibal didn't hesitate.


End file.
